Milkshakes and Sweet Tea
by DreamingRomantic8
Summary: It all started out as an debate over Milkshakes and Sweet Tea, but really it's so much more (T/W for dark self-loathing and strong language from the voices inside my head and OOC Emma). Captain Swan feat. The Charming Family.


He finally finds her in their shared closet, her body pressed against the back corner, hidden behind their winter coats. He can hear her whimpering and see the movement of the coats as she rocks back and forth. Killian isn't quite sure what triggered Emma to react like this, but all his mind is registering is pain – her pain. She had been on edge all day, hell all week she had been a little out of it, and he had tried to get to the root of the problem, he really had, but she wasn't willing to budge. Finally, in the middle of a post-dinner conversation in their home with her family, Emma snapped.

Snow and Emma had been discussing some type of drink – milkshakes, he remembers – that could now be found at Granny's and they were debating that versus something called sweet tea. Charming and Henry joined in and put their two cents into the conversation – both preferred the milk beverage, and Snow vehemently agreed with them. Emma, on the other hand, swore up and down that she and Snow had had this conversation a few days prior and both the ladies had agreed on Sweet Tea as their beverage of choice. The two were arguing back and forth and all of a sudden, Emma stood up, declaring that she was tired and that she was going to take a nap. Before the others could process what had happened, Emma was out of the room and walking up the stairs of their house, leaving a confused family in her midst.

As she walks up the stairs, Emma can feel her heart sinking. She had single handedly ruined the night they were all having. It had been a while since they'd all been together casually like that, and of course, she was the one to ruin it (like always). She should have known better than to open her stupid mouth. Now their night was ruined and everyone probably thought she was crazy and annoying. Leave it up to Emma to mess everything up. "Savior kills the day." She thought with a laugh and the shake of her head. Some savior she was. She couldn't even keep her mouth shut and her stupid emotions locked up long enough to allow everyone else to enjoy their night. Since when did she become so selfish? So stupid? A voice in her head responds that she's always been that way. The lost girl hadn't disappeared with murmured declarations of love from a certain pirate. No, the lost girl was present and here to stay, forever.

She shouldn't be surprised, she supposes. Isn't that what everyone had told her? That she'll always be a lost girl? That no matter what she does, who she meets, or what she becomes, none of that will change her past? She'll always be the girl who had to sit in the back of the class during bring-your-parent-to-school day, she'll always be the girl who showed up in sweatpants and a jacket on the first summery day of school because there was always something to cover up. She'll always be the girl who people laughed at and pointed to when they were in need of a good laugh. She'll always be the girl who teachers ignored, always be the second best, always be the one who gets hurt. Emma Swan will always be the one who wasn't good enough. The one who wasn't strong enough, special enough, pretty enough, calm enough, or even likable enough for her own friends, her own family. She should've just accepted that long ago. She doesn't deserve any of this.

Somehow, her feet have landed her in the closet, behind their coats. It's funny, she thinks; as she curls herself up into a ball. It's funny how nothing has changed. Throughout her life, Emma always retreated into this position. When foster parents and foster siblings would beat her up, Emma would always crawl up into a ball, wishing for it all to go away, wishing for someone to rescue her. But Emma knew better than anyone – no one ever comes to rescue you. You have to rescue yourself. But what if you're not worth it? Her head is banging against the wall now. She registers a dull throbbing pain in her skull and her fingers dig deeper into her arms. She deserves it, she thinks. She deserves the pain after all she's put them through. She deserves it.

It was a stupid conversation. It was just milkshakes and sweet tea – why did it make her feel so bad? So unwanted? So unloved? So unworthy? So insecure? _Because you are_ , her mind responded, and Emma believed. She knew she was all of those things. She knew because that's all she'd been told and no matter how many times someone told her otherwise, these thoughts would always be in the back of her mind. She ruined everything, she always does.

She can hear laughter floating up from downstairs and then doors opening and closing. She feels an immediate sigh of relief, followed by a rush of pain. She caused them to leave. They were all having such a great time and then she had to go and make it awkward and tense for everyone else. _Great, Emma. That's fucking great, you stupid piece of shit_. She knows the voice in her head is right. She always fucks up. _You'll always be unloved, you burden. That's all you'll ever be. A burden. You deserve all the pain you get_.

The thing is, that part of her mind can't remember what she'd done to deserve the pain. Yes, she was trying to tell her mother ( _but she's not your mother, she hates you, Emma_ ) that Sweet Tea was better than Milkshakes, and yes, they had had this exact conversation before, and both had agreed that Sweet Tea far outweighed Milkshakes. Then all of a sudden, the noise became too much to take and she doesn't even rember why she got up, but the next thing she knew she was sitting in the closet, tears running down her face because, of-fucking-course she's crying like a baby and they were all gone. Like always, they always leave.

But she wishes they wouldn't ( _You don't get to make wishes, this isn't a fairy tale_ ).

She wishes that he would come up. She wishes that a certain pirate would find her, hidden behind the clothes, and not find her so weak. She wishes that he would come up and kiss her wounds and make it all better. _But can he? Is that even possible? You're so broken, there's no going back now._ She can hear herself whimpering now, moaning brokenly and she wishes she could control herself, control these stupid attacks.

They've happened before and normally she's alone and can deal with it herself, but now she's worried about what he'll think and what he's going to do _and how disgusted and annoyed he'll be with her pathetic state. Pathetic._

Her mind blanks again, and that's how she knows she's really lost it this time. _All over a stupid discussion. Great going, Emma. Fan-fucking-tastic_. She feels someone's fingers on her arms, trying to dig her fingers out. Next thing she knows, she's been pulled into someone's lap. It smells like leather and rum and sandalwood and the sea and she knows that she's home. She knows that he came to save her from herself ( _because you can't even keep yourself stable, you bitch_ ). She moans again with the voices in her head. The scariest part is that they don't even look like a Dark One – they're all her voices, all her own. She vaguely hears someone calling her name and they sound like they're in pain. She opens her eyes a crack, her pupils searching madly for the source of the voice until she finds it right in front of her. She sees the tear tracks on his face, and his fingers are red. _She's hurt him_ , she thinks, _great, you can't even keep others safe, you're just hurting them. You're making everything worse!_ It's a beat later that she realizes that it's her own blood, caused by her fingers digging into her arms. _Whatever, you deserve it anyways, Emma_. She knows she does.

Her eyes close again and the voice is louder. _Gods, it's not like she's going to faint or die or anything. She just wants to be alone; she only makes things worse when she opens her mouth. She ruins everything – why can't he understand that? Why can't he understand that she doesn't want to hurt him and the only way she can keep him safe from all this madness is by keeping her distance_.

"I'm fine." She manages to croak out, hoping it will be enough to satisfy him and make him pull away. _She doesn't want him to_. He doesn't, and it's not enough. He picks her up as if she weighs nothing ( _He must have been working out. She's too heavy for someone to be able to carry her that lightly. She's not pretty skinny, she's a fatass_ ). Next thing she knows, they're sitting in the tub together, water running softly over their bodies and doesn't he care that his clothes are getting wet? She is not worth ruining his clothes. She wants to tell him that, wants to tell him to leave her be, but she can't. She only flinches when he places his hand on hers ( _his soft, soft hand_ ). It wasn't a flinch of fear, but rather one built from years of torment and abuse. She doesn't deserve his soft touch.

He reaches out of the tub and brings a washcloth and softly begins to clean her wounds ( _when did he get her hands to move? See Emma, you're not as strong as you pretend to be. You can't even keep a grip on your own arms_ ). She knows how she must look. She knows that her eyes are filled with a haunted look and tears that she shouldn't let fall, but probably will. Her face is pale and her chest is heaving up and down (she knows that'll hurt later). She has bruises and cuts on her arms from where her fingers went too deep ( _but not deep enough_ ) and her heart; well that's the most painful of all. She can feel it clenching and she gasps when she feels it being tugged. It hurts and god, it hurts so fucking much, but there's nothing she can do to stop it. It's too much. Too much pain, too much sorrow. There's too much in her past and too much that's happening now. Even him, he's too much – so much more than she deserves, so much more than she is worthy for. She ruins everything, why can't he just get that and save himself and leave her alone? She knows she's being irrational, knows that if she can actually get these words out of her mouth that he'll comfort her and kiss her sorrows until they're hidden in a box, but then he'll roll his eyes when they re-appear again. She knows they will. They always do.

Her clothes are coming off now and she can't see anything in his eyes. No lust, no desire. She can't read them anymore and maybe it's because her own eyes are filling with tears, or maybe it's because his are filled with the liquid too. Either way, he's undressing her and undressing himself and there's nothing sexual about it so Emma can't understand why he wants her to be naked. She's not pretty, not desirable, and now he's crying and gosh, _look at what you've done to him. You're hurting him, you idiot._

"Emma," he speaks, finally, and it's not just her and her thoughts anymore. "Why are you doing this to yourself?" She shrugs. These attacks have always happened to her, and no one's been there to witness one before, and there has certainly never been anyone to actually try and do anything about it. His mouth opens and closes a few times before she hears a sound come out again. She wishes he could just look in her eyes and realize what's going on, but she knows that's too much to ask. _The truth_ , she thinks, _he deserves the truth. He deserves better than this_.

"I love you." He says, because it's the only thing he could think to say. "I love you with my heart and my soul and everything that I am. In my eyes, you are perfect." _Lies._ "I love you more than I can describe and I only wish I could help you, I wish I could take all your pain away." _Yeah, right. I deserve this pain, Killian, you don't._ "You don't deserve any of this." And he takes her face into his hands and he looks so shocked, and "Did I just say that out loud?" It's the only thing she can think to say, and god, Emma, you're so fucking stupid that you can't even keep your thoughts to yourself. She's aware that she's mumbling now, aware that her thoughts are free falling out of her mouth and there's nothing she can do because now her lips are wobbling and goddamnit she's crying like a little baby. She's crying and crying and crying for everything and she can't stop.

"Where does it hurt?" He asks her, pulling her close towards him and keeping her safe in his arms. "Please, my love, what can I do?" She shakes her head and she can feel the attack subsiding as she gains control of her mind.

"I'm sorry," she cries into his shoulder, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She's gasping for breath now and she can feel again ( _finally, she can feel_ ), and she can feel the water running down her back, she can feel her fingers clawing her back, desperate for something to anchor her home, something to ground her. She knows he must be shocked by her change in attitude, and she wishes he could read her mind and just know everything that was happening, because she doesn't know how toe express it herself.

"It hurts," she says, and he swears it's the most painful thing he's ever heard. He's holding her arms so she doesn't fall, his eyes peering into hers beneath their wet eyelashes. "It hurts, everything hurts, please make it stop. Killian, please make it stop, I can't…" She doesn't know what to do, and he's at a loss as well. He wants to make it stop for her, he truly does, but these aren't battles he can fight with his sword. So he does the only thing he knows he can, he tells her everything.

"Shh…You're alright now, my love. You're okay, you're safe, nothing can harm you. You are perfect, I love you." He feels her shaking her head against his chest. She's murmuring something, but he can't hear it.

"I'm not, why are you saying those things? I'm not enough, I've never been enough. I'm so stupid I don't even know what's wrong with me, I don't deserve any of this. I deserve pain, I don't deserve you." There's more to what she's saying, he's sure of it, but he can't bear to hear anymore, not now. He pushes her away from his chest, and she whimpers, her fists automatically going up to fight him. He knows it's not her, he knows that it's an instinct from too many years of fighting to keep her walls up. He takes her tiny wrists in his hand and uses the other one to move her chin up so their faces are level. She's still trying to fight him back, but there's no use.

"Swan, Swan," he calls as she tries to break from his hold. "Look at me. Emma, look at me." She stops fighting, her body exhausted from what's already happened. She's out of breath and her chest is heaving up and down. He can't tell her tears from the water that's falling above them and he's crying too because, how could she think that? How could she ever think that she's not worth it, that she's not enough? He has a sudden increased urge to pummel the bastards who ever spoke those words to her. They were the ones who deserved the pain, not his Emma. He took a deep breath to steady himself before beginning. "Emma Swan, you are enough." She stops everything and looks up at him in disbelief, as if she hearing those words for the first time (and perhaps she was). "You are enough, my love, you are so enough. You are everything to me. You deserve the world, and you don't deserve an ounce of pain and I wish, more than anything, I wish you knew that. I wish you knew how loved, how cherished, how welcome you are. I wish you knew how I feel when I look at you, how my heart literally skips a beat when you walk into the room. I wish you could feel what I feel when you smile or when you laugh. You deserve so much more than what you've been given, Emma, darling, you deserve the world." She's still staring up at him like he was speaking a new language. "Love, you are my world. You are the reason that I breathe, and I can never get enough of you. All those thoughts in your head are wrong, love, they're so wrong. Emma, you are enough. You are loved, you are so loved, not just by me, but by your entire family, hell everyone in this town loves you." Her head lowers now, as if the praise is too much for her to accept. He knows he can't push her much further, but goddamnit, she needs to know!

"You have my heart, Emma, you are my heart. You are so enough, and I love you more than I could ever say. You are never a burden, my darling, and whatever thoughts you have in your head are wrong, and I intend to spend the rest of my life proving that to you." Her mouth is opening and closing like a fish, her chest still heaving up and down. He can tell there are still insecurities floating around in her head, and he knows that in this moment, he can't crush all of them, but he is resolved to hold her close and tight and tell her every day how much she means to him. It doesn't matter what happened or how this happened – all that matters is that Emma knows that the voices in her head are wrong, and that she is loved, so loved, by the people around her.

Emma's still at a loss for words and the funny thing is, the voices in her mind have nothing to say back to him. In that moment, she feels loved, and safe, and light. And right there, in his arms, there was nothing anyone could say otherwise. "I love you, too. Thank you for bringing me back." It's all she can manage right now and it's a soft whisper that she's not ever sure he heard above the water, but she knows he knows how much she appreciates him. He kisses her softly then, like she is the most precious thing on the planet, because she is, and in that moment, all was well.


End file.
